Fur Elizaveta
by fromBelgiumwithchocolatexD4
Summary: A Hungarian mother remembers her husband with the input of a few others. Past Austria x Hungary


It was raining.

It had always rained at this particular time of year. The time when the winter was creeping out of the picture, giving way to glorius spring, letting her caress the earth with warm, gentle fingers, coaxing the animals out of hibernation, shaking the trees loose of their frosty bonds, letting leaves unfurl from those trees slowly, but surely.

Elizabeta Hedevary, of Hedevary Photograph Studios, was walking home after a long day's work. She was a pretty young thing, her hair a beautiful mane full of chestnut locks that danced in the breeze on a windy day, her eyes a bright green, trained to notice what others didn't, be it the adorable couple, Kiku and Heracles holding hands in the break room, or her best friend Gilbert pilfering a slice of cake from her kitchen, a grin on his face all the while, even when she threatened to chop off his vital regions and serve them to him on a crystal platter.

On this particular rainy, wet day, the Hungarian was heading home, satisfied with her work, which she couldn't say she was often, despite her confident exterior. Elizaveta smiled as she passed the school where her tomato-loving friend Antonio worked, making a note to ask him over for dinner sometime. The Spaniard had been a close friend to the Hungarian woman ever since she had brought her friend's little sister, an adopted girl from Liechtenstein, to school since her older brother, a policeman named Vash Zwingli, had had to go in early that morning.

Elizabeta, now past the school, had first seen him in the bakery where her Danish friend, Mathais, worked at. He was under the awning, checking out the gleaming sachertorte that was currently on display, but not excluding the perfect strawberry petits choux alongside it, courtesy of Mathais's significant other, Nikolas.

The mysterious man in front of the bakery had luminous chocolate brown hair, somewhat wavy, a curl sticking up, distinguished features, a mole on his face, but it was attractive, sort of a beauty mark, and those eyes. Oh, his eyes were beautiful, the color of violets tinted lighter by a stroke of Edelweiss. He was captivating.

He glanced at her as she approached, giving a slight smile as she stood next to him, admiring the pastries next to him wothout actually admiring them. It was a well-rehearsed art that Elizaveta had perfected, its purpose ambiguous. It could be used for anything, really, but in this case, its purpose was charming the man.

"Might I ask your name, Miss?" he quietly asked her, the rain behind the two quieting as if Mother Earth had shushed it to hear their conversation. "It's Elizabeta Héderváry. And yourself, sir?" she replied, tilting her head to the side to look into those breathtaking eyes of his. "I am Roderich Edelstein." he said, cheeks faintly blushing a pretty shade of pink, or maybe it was just a trick of her eyes. "Alright then, Mr. Edelstein. Why you are in the rain without an umbrella?" she asked.

He now fully blushed. "Truth be told, I got lost on my way home, and was caught in the downpour." he muttered.

She couldn't help it. She started to laugh.

"D-don't laugh at me!" he stuttered.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping a raindrop from her face. "As an apology, where do you live? I'll take you there on my way home."

"Ms. Héderváry, don't trouble yourself over a silly Austrian." he sniffed.

"Austrian? You don't say! I'm Hungarian. And it's no trouble at all, believe me."

"Are you certain?"

Now she was growing agitated. "Who's the one with the umbrella here?" she asked rhetorically.

"I suppose you're right." he said, letting out a sigh of defeat.

"Now will you tell me where it is you live?"

"If you're certain..." he said, sighing, and told her the adress.

"That's not far at all from here!" she exclaimed with relief, unfurling her umbrella once again, and holding out a hand to the Austrian, who after a stunned moment, took it, and led her down the street.

**-Bake a pretty cake transition :D-**

_"It's sunny today."_ Elizaveta mused as she glanced out the window onto the yard where her twins were playing.

Twin boys, Feliciano and Lovino, both handsome, both had that same stubborn curl their father had, though at a different place on their heads of shiny auburn hair. Elizaveta stood up as Feliciano fell down, but slowly sat down when Lovino reluctantly handed a flower to the crying twin, thus making said twin stop crying and instead, trying to tackle-hug his nearly identical ten year old brother.

A sad-sort of clanging from the clock in the hall and the bells in the steeple too outside told her it was three o' clock, and she'd better get moving if she wanted to be there on time. She quickly put away the frying pan she'd been polishing and brushed the grime on her apron, long since soiled from past cookie-baking and dinner making, all wonderful memories.

"Feli! Lovi! We need to go if you boys want to visit Daddy!" The Hungarian mother called to her beautiful boys outside, hanging up her apron on the designated peg next to two smaller ones. Gilbert always teased her about turning his 'nephews' into little women, which earned him a smack with a frying pan from the mother hen.

"Alright, Mama!" Feli called back to her, coming inside to wash his hands, Lovi following suit. She undid the bandana from her hair, freeing the long tresses, and dragged a hand through them, playing with them until her sons came back to the foyer. She held out a hand for each of them, giving her eldest an affectionate kiss on the head which he attempted to rub off, as is the custom in small children who aren't mama's boys.

"Mama, can we stop by Mr. Køhler's on the way back?" Feliciano asked, leaning against his mother as they exited the picturesque house, turning at the corner past their car parked on the curb. She smiled at her son's fondness for Danish pastries.

"Maybe, méz,if you're good."

"Mmm, okay, mama!"

They passed a street vendor selling flowers and on impulse, she stopped herself and bought a small bunch of edelweiss, giving one to each of her boys before travelling onwards towards their destination.

They reached it soon enough.

The wrought-iron gate seemed intimidating to most, but to Elizaveta and her boys, it had become an old friend, the graves behind its walls looking more familiar by the visits. Lovino had already silently memorized half the inscriptions on the slabs of stone, while Feliciano had memorized the other half, wisely leaving their mother alone.

Lovino gently pried his hand from his mother's grip which had tightened considerably upon entering, and went off with his brother towards the flower garden that had naturally bloomed there. Elizaveta watched after them for a moment before turning back to the cemetary path, her brown boots cruching the gravel underneath her feet as she timidly stepped up to the grave she was seeking, and sat down on the cold, somewhat damp earth, her skirts billowing out under her.

"Hey, Roddy. I came to see you again." she said softly, willing the tears in her eyes she'd hid for years not to come out as she gazed at the tombstone, tracing the lettering with her eyes, fingers absentmindedly tracing the notes he'd wanted on his grave.

"Ba-da-da-da-da-ba-da-da-dum." she hummed, closing her eyes as she envisioned the first time she'd heard it.

**-Fur Elise Transition-**

_"That's very pretty, Roddy." a heavily pregnant Elizaveta said to her husband as she came up behind him. _

_"E-Elizaveta! Are you alright? Is it something with the babies?" he panicked, those pianist fingers of his flitting over her belly. _

_"No, I just heard you playing and thought it was beautiful." she reassured him, her hands cupping her worried husband's face, smoothing out his clear forehead. "Oh, you like it? It's a melody I had forgotten but recently found the sheets for." he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her own forehead. _

_"What's it called?" the inquisitive Hungarian asked her husband._

_He cracked a slight smile that made her heart flutter._

_"Für Elise." He said, caressing her hair for one romantic moment before turning back to his instrument again, striking up the soft chords once again._

_She stood behind him, hands clasped together as he played, her eyes watering as the feeling behind the words overwhelmed her._

**-D'awww!-**

"I learnt that piece after you passed, Roddy. I thought Feli and Lovi would like it. Feli's taking piano lessons this year. He told me one night, when Lovi had already gone to sleep after a day spent with Antonio harvesting tomatoes, that he hoped to become as good as you were at the piano, and then maybe he'd remember you better. He's a sweet child, isn't he? Lovi wants to open his own Italian resturant. I swear on my _Anya's _grave that the boys are Italian, through and through. I miss you. I'm sure you knew that, right?" she told the grave.

No one reprimanded her for doing it, not her sons, not the silent Swedish caretaker of the cemetary, just no one. It was one of her freedoms in a world without color anymore. Or at least, that's the way she found it. Nothing really made any sense to her anymore, but she lived not only for her late husband, but for her sons as well.

**-Su-san transition!-**

Berwald looked up from sweeping the graveyard paths and his sea-green eyes rested on the Hungarian woman who came with her sons to see her late husband.

_"Poor woman."_ he thought to himself, a pang of pity resounding in his chest as he watched her talk happily to the stone, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sons stopped playing and looked at each other for a minute before hurrying to their mother, hugging her around the waist. She scooped them up in her arms and burrowed her face into their hair.

He felt a tear leak out of his own eye, and wiped it off. Feelings got in the way while caring for the dead. The Swede then turned his head to look at a particular headstone. His son's.

_"Peter Oxenstierna-Kirkland_

_September 2nd, 1998-November 2nd, 2011_

_I'm going to be strong one day" _

He had to wipe more tears away.

Yes, feelings did get in the way of caring for the dead.

He knew that from experience.

**-Lalalala~!-**

"Vutti? Mama loves you, and so do we. Even if you were a meanie sometimes." Feli said to the stone, remembering their father's gentle smile and his strict rules.

Lovi stayed silent, but said in his mind the words he wanted to desperately say. _" Why didn't you come back Vutti! You know that Mama cries because of you! Piano-bastard!" _

"Come on boys, we 'd better be going. We can't stay here all day. I'll take you Mr.Køhler's, ya?"

"Yes, Mama!" the twins chorused, excited by the oppritunity to sample some of the pastries their Mama's friend made.

**-Whisper transition-**

Roderich watched them go, despairingly sad that he couldn't leave this godforsaken place with them. The late Austrian's ghost watched with sorrow as his eyes rested on his beloved wife. He wished he'd been able to stay alive.

He wished he'd been able to teach his sons piano.

He wished he'd made things right with his old friend Vash.

He wished he'd be able to play piano again.

He wished he'd be able to see his beloved wife again.

He wished he'd live again, making it seem as though he'd never gone.

He didn't only wish this for himself.

He wished it for her.

For her.

Für Elizaveta.

_-End.-_

_Hope you enjoyed, please review if you want to. _

_Hasta la Pasta! _


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